


Meeting Harry Watson

by snowdropintheheart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Doctor Harry, Doctor John Watson, Drug Addict Sherlock, Drug Use, F/M, Falling In Love, Love, M/M, Medical Procedures, Past, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Post-Divorce, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Sacrifice, Sex Addiction, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdropintheheart/pseuds/snowdropintheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Watson is a psychiatrist who is an alcoholic and former drug addict.<br/>John Watson had no intention to introduce his sister to Sherlock.<br/>But they did meet years ago. And then they saw each other a couple times more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After The Fall

It was right after his glorious come back when Sherlock Holmes met Harry Watson.

It was pretty unpredictable. An ordinary day at 221B, except the fact that Sherlock came back from death three days ago. He was working on the case when Mrs. Hudson came to living room with her classical excited manner. "Sherlock." she smiled, she was obviously glad to see Sherlock again, and Sherlock would never confess but this feeling was mutual. "You have another client." Now she was clearly not sure, "A nice lady... But I think she is a little bit drunk. She is waiting downstairs."

"Tell her to go, I've already got a case."

"She says it's important."

"They all say it's important."

_"Oh, finally. The Great Sherlock Holmes. Alive, safe and sound."_

**A woman. More than 35. Possibly 38. Obviously drunk as Mrs. Hudson said. Tries to quit but fails. Probably former junkie, too. Blonde hair, dyed brown two months ago. No make up. Middle class. Denim skirt, plaid shirt, not very appopriate for her age. Emotionally unbalanced. Right handed. Bisexual, still prefers women. Divorced a couple years ago from wife. A doctor, possibly psychiatrist, doesn't like blood, but unemployed for a while.**

But there was more... Much more. Something familiar.

**Her accent, eyes, nose and mostly hands. Obvious, too obvious.**

**Harry Watson.**

"Welcome, Miss Watson."

"You are as good as my brother says, aren't you?" Harry laughed, she couldn't help herself. _"That's why I am drinking."_ she reminded herself bitterly. _"Sober, high or drunk, I am useless either way. So why not feeling a little bit more comfortable?"_

"Oh, we both know John likes to overstate things." Sherlock answered calmly and it made Harry laugh more. The detective was wearing his emotionless mask, but Harry could see that he was reading her past and the fact that he was surprised. And surprising The Great Sherlock Holmes was pretty satisfying. "Bet you didn't expect this." she said, grinning like an idiot.

"Pardon me, Miss Watson?"

"The drunk sister..." she stopped and chuckled. "...is a doctor. A psychiatrist, mostly."

The look on the Sherlock's face slightly turn into more surprised, but he was good at covering himself. Too good. Nearly impossible to tell, but not for Harry Watson.

Harry could see in the detective's face that John never mentioned details of their relationship to him and she couldn't blame him for that. She had been the worst sister a person could have. Selfish, unbalanced, ignorant. During their teenage years, she locked herself in her room, completely ignored John and whole world, yelled to walls, hurt herself, and most of the time - got high, the only solution to shut all the voices in her head. John was the golden boy, Harry was the disgrace. She could see that she was breaking John's heart, she could see everybody's emotions but she never let John know. She never let anybody to know except her several therapists that there were voices in her head. They thought she was out of her mind. She couldn't let John know. It was the right thing to do.

Sherlock didn't answer. He continued to observe the woman, she was like an open book, pretty much the same with John. But there was something different. Something he never observed on nobody before her. He could tell the woman had a lot of problems in her past, still keeping some of them, the woman was a mess obviously. But there was another thing. The main reason of all this mess.

Sherlock didn't like not to know.

"John currently doesn't share this flat with me, Miss Watson." he said calmly, he was curious, yet the woman's existance was somehow bothering him.

"I came for you, Mr. Holmes. I am sure you can tell that."

So, they were playing this game.

"Yes, I can tell it, Miss Watson, but I don't see no reason for you to want to see me."

Harry laughed. A lot. Too much that tears escaped from her eyes. The detective was looking at her like he was thinking that she lost her mind. Probably, he was right.

"Bugger off, Sherlock Holmes." Now her voice was dangerously angry. "You." She swallowed. "Bastard. Left my brother for two years. Two fucking years. Do you know what it means?"

Sherlock was still keeping his mask and it literally drove Harry crazy.

"You, son of a bitch, jumped off that fucking building, let John to watch you die."

Still, mask on. But behind that, behind icy blue eyes, sharp facial lines, lips squirimed, just for a moment, Harry saw the deepest regret she had ever seen. Yet it wasn't enough. She really did want to hurt the man. Make him pay what he did to her brother.

"Do you know that he thought about killing himself? Kept that bloody gun with him everynight?" She stopped to check the detective's face. He clearly thought about that before, but hearing it made an obvious effect on him. But Harry chose to ignore what she saw. "Of course you don't, you ruthless machine. You were too busy to play that idiotic game with that fucking Moriarty, you never saw what you could do to him, what you actually did to him." She was feeling like she was trying to rip the detective's heart out. Maybe she somehow managed to do, she could see the hurt behind the detective's face. Not a shallow one, a deep one. But it was...

Suddenly it hit to her.

_"God."_

She was getting slower or the detective was really good.

The answer was simple: Both.

Sherlock was still motionless. No expression on his face. Just looking into the sister. John's sister.

"You... weren't playing. You were... protecting. Him."

Sherlock sighed. He knew that it would be an enough clue for the woman.

"Not just him." Her voice was clearly hesitant, but Sherlock knew she would keep talking. Deducting. A lot different from what Sherlock did, but somehow it was deducting. "There were other people. But still... You did this, because you... Care about him?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Because... you?" Now she was sounding confused.

"I believe my actions speak for themselves well enough, Miss Watson." Sherlock couldn't let her go further. The end of the game. "But still, I don't think you are here to blame me. You are here to relieve yourself. To fix your damaged conscience as a failed older sister. I am a sociopath, but even I can tell that I am not right person to talk to reach your goal."

"You are right about my conscience, but we both now that you are not a sociopath, Mister Holmes. You've never been." answered Harry, without doubting a second.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Do tell me your medical opinion, Doctor Watson."

Harry smiled bitterly. "You don't remember, do you? Probably you never find your doctors worth keeping in your precious mind palace."

She was right. Doctors never mattered except giving methadone.

"I was an psychiatry assistant when you first came to our clinic. I remember you, we all sure that you were brilliant and wasting your exceptional mind with drugs. I remember how we failed to rehabilate you. I also remembered you deduced my own drug habbit. I started to drink after that." Harry inhaled deeply, even talking about that days were causing a pain in her chest. She did her best to cover it, but she knew she couldn't hide herself from the detective's impossible attention.

"Yes, heroin." That wasn't a question, but the fact that the detective remembered it undeniably surprised her. " _To shut the voices in your head_. And yet, when I told you that _I used heroin to shut the voices in my head_ , you told me that _I could do better_. Wasn't that _ironic_ , Doctor Watson?"

Harry smiled. "What did you do after you ran away from the clinic?"

"I continue to solve crimes. And started to use cocaine."

They looked at each other. Observing.

Harry took a step closer. She couldn't help feeling a sudden sympathy to the detective. Not to the detective, to the man who she saw behind the "Sherlock Holmes: The Great Consulting Detective" mask.

"Sherlock." she said quitely. "You know you can't do this again. You know he will forgive you eventually, but you can't hurt Johnny again."

Sherlock looked her right into eyes, and that moment Harry was sure the detective could see right through him.

"I know." he said simply.

"Good." Harry cleared her throat. "I'd better go." She picked her bag she dropped while yelling at Sherlock. After a moment of hesitation she left 221B Baker Street without saying another word.

Sherlock Holmes stood up, walked near the window and watched her go.

_"I can't hurt John Watson again."_


	2. Before The Wedding

John Watson didn't like Sherlock's silent days.

It was hard to confess it before, but he simply didn't. He didn't like when Sherlock closed himself to the world, keeping all the things that went through his brilliant mind away from John and everone else. Since the day they'd met, John was fascinated by him. John was suspicious that everybody had already known that. Even Mary.

But something clearly changed after he came back. Sherlock became... almost open. He wasn't hiding himself anymore. He was almost telling everything in his mind to John. It was almost too easy to forgive him. John had already been ready to forgive him. As Harry said.

Harry... Even thinking about her was giving John headache. He phoned her a couple days ago, which was unusual, they almost had an silent deal about just writing each other letters, but he couldn't give her the information of he was getting married by a bloody letter, and left John an emotional mess. As always. There hadn't even been a slight change since their early years. Small conversations, sarcasms and inevitable heartbreak. When Harry finally decided to isolate herself, John was almost glad. But it didn't change the fact that he was worried about her. Still he was worrying about her. It was almost like Sherlock and Mycroft. But John had never been able to do something for Harry as much as Mycroft do for Sherlock. But who could be able to race with Holmes Brothers?

_"How the hell, whatever bloody thing I think, it comes to Sherlock?"_ He covered his face with his hands. But he answer was pretty simple:

Doctor Harry Bloody Watson.

Harry always had an interesting way to get into John's head. During their teenage years, even Harry decided to shut down all of her communications with world, John felt like his mind was invaded by her. It was like she always read him. Maybe she was reading everybody else, who knew, they never talked about it.

"It's interesting, you know." Harry said when the first time they talked after he met Sherlock. "That Holmes bloke. You wrote on your blog that he almost read everyone else like a book. It must be rung some bells." And John said-

_"John, are you here, dear?"_

John couldn't help shaking and looked at Mary who was gently smiling at him. "Hm?"

"You are almost lost since you talked with Harry. Is everything all right?"

"Yes." John answered. "Perfectly fine." He smiled, knowing it was not convincing. Mary never bought when he was faking, but she didn't insist, because they were in the middle of some kind of wedding cake tasting, or whatever the hell they called it. "I liked the one with... banana."

Mary smiled bitterly. "John, there's nothing with banana."

_"Oh."_

It was not good. Not good at all.

 

*  
* *

 

It was two days before the wedding when Harry Watson visited Sherlock Holmes second time.

But this time, it was predictable. He knew she would come. Three, no, probably two days before the wedding, around 3.40 p.m. considering the time Harry would wake up from a hangover, check her phone, see Sherlock's text, rearrange her schedule of her AA meetings - one of them as a therapist, the other one as a patient - London traffic and her limit of not getting involved in John's life.

When Harry found himself in front of 221B Baker Street for the second time, she knew Sherlock was waiting for him. She had a strong feeling that even if Sherlock didn't text him - a simple " _-SH_ " - she would come here anyways after her phone call with John.

Because Sherlock Holmes was fucking right about her damaged older sister conscience.

She wasn't drunk today, Sherlock could tell that by the way her body shaking and he heard she almost lost her balance on the stairs. Also it wasn't difficult to understand that she hadn't been sleeping for a couple days. She didn't even bother with combing her hair. She was wearing the same denim skirt with a different coloured plaid shirt. Not appopriate for her age, _again_.

When she entered living room, Sherlock was folding the last napkin they had as the shape of Sydney Opera Building.

_"What the hell is that?"_

"Welcome, Doctor Watson."

They looked at each other.

"Napkins." Sherlock murmured, "For the wedding."

"Oh." said Harry quitely, but didn't say anything more. If she saw that view of Sherlock Holmes, The Great Consulting Detective, One and Only, another time, she would probably burst out laughing, but something about the way he was sitting in the middle of hunderds of folded napkins touched Harry's heart.

The proof she needed was right before her, in the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

**_"I won't come to the wedding."_ **

_**"You can't come to the wedding.**_ "

In a different situation maybe they could both have pleasure from their minds' harmony. But not today. Not two days before John's wedding.

Harry raised her eyeborows, " _Can't I?_ "

"We both know you don't approve John's choice of companion and-"

"Fuck off, Sherlock."

They fixed their gazes on each other for one more time.

"Can you deduce why I don't approve his choice of companion?" Harry asked. From detective's behaviors, she could see that he knew about the phone call she had with John.

She smiled bitterly while remembering the conversation.

 

  
*  
* *

  
_..._

_"I think you are making this decision too fast, John. Mary is a nice woman but Sherlock has just come back and-"_

_"Harry." John interrupted. "It has nothing to do with Sherlock."_

_"Yes, it does."_

_Silence._

_"Look, John." Harry said, trying to be calm. "We saw each other more than ever when Sherlock was away. I know what I saw in you, I observe what it's like-"_

_"Harry." Now his voice was dangerously angry._

_"I won't say you don't understand, because you don't want to understand. You need time more with Sherlock before making a decision like that. You need to think. You both need to think."_

_"Why the fuck Sherlock is all we talk about?"_

_"Because, it all has to do with Sherlock. You know you'll lose him if you get married. That's how marrige works.You get married and-"_

_"You are the last person to give me advices about marriage, Harry."_

"Cheap trick to break me and change the subject, John." _Harry thought._

_"Look, Harry." John said, now his voice was calmer. "I don't want your bloody approval. I just want you to be there, because you are my sister, okay?"_

_"I won't watch you ruining your life, Johnny."_

_Harry hung up the phone._

 

  
*  
* *

 

Sherlock didn't answer. Harry smiled.

"Apparently we have one more thing mutual, Mister Holmes."

"It's John's choice, Doctor Watson." Sherlock answered, determination in his voice almost made Harry shiver. "Our duty is being with him in this biggest and most important day of his life, as his sister and his..." he hesitated a little bit. "...best friend."

"Best friend?" Harry smirked. "That's what you call each other?" She looked at folded napkins again. Sherlock was still silent, but Harry couldn't complain, the detective had a special way of telling more without talking. But the point that made Harry surprised was, Sherlock wasn't trying to hide like he did the last time. Disappointment, hurt, determination were lying all over his face. Harry always knew, even when she first saw him years ago at the clinic, the fact that Sherlock Holmes was a special man. Blessed with incredible intelligence, impossible observing skills and a unique way to perceive the world. But this was different. It was hard to explain, but definetely different.

"He made you his best man, didn't he?"

Sherlock simply nodded.

"I wasn't aware that my brother was cruel that much."

No answer, again. Harry sighed. They both knew that this conversation wasn't going into a good direction. But she didn't give up. Not yet. "You know she is a liar."

Sherlock suddenly stood up and took three steps towards Harry. He obviously cathced Harry unprepeared.

"Doctor Watson, I'm doing my best to make this wedding something as good as your brother deserves and I strongly suggest you to stay away from it."

This time Harry couldn't help shivering. His voice was cold as ice but despite his choice of words it wasn't a treat, it was more of a request.

Harry knew it was her last chance. "You know she's hiding something, Sherlock. I don't know what it is, I am not as smart as you are, but it's something big. I can feel it."

"It will be alright."

Harry looked at him in the eye. Behind that icy blue, his eyes were burning.

"I trust you." she murmured. She wasn't lying. She was trusting Sherlock Holmes.

Once again Sherlock watched her go.


	3. Unfinished Chapter 3, Volume 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am kinda at writer's block, I wrote the beginning part of chapter 3 over and over again. This is the first version, as a gift of apology. Chapter 3 is still WIP.

Emptiness.

After solving a crime and saving a life, playing violin for John’s wedding, revealing The Sign of Three it was the only thing Sherlock was capable of feeling.

What would a man do when he lost his best friend?

Sherlock knew that there was no point of denying. Of course Mycroft was right. Mrs. Hudson was right. Everybody was right. The end of an era. Voices in his head were louder than they had ever been.

_"Mary and John. Domestic bliss."_

_"Don’t get involved."_

_"It changes people, marriage."_

_"Do you remember Redbeard?"_

**_"Caring is not an advantage."_ **

Sherlock wanted to pull his own hair until his brain started to hurt. He wanted to hurt himself until all the voices shut up.

_"Sentiment…"_ he thinked bitterly, the only explanation of all this mess. _"…is a chemical defect found in the losing side."_ he repeated to himself. When he first said that, everything was different. It wasn’t like the time with The Woman. They were playing a game. This time there was no game.

Yet, Sherlock was losing.


	4. Unfinished Chapter 3, Volume 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and this is the second version. Chapter 3 is still WIP.

Sherlock loved dancing.

Music was one of the few things that could really pass beyond his cold, observant and scientist mind, touch his soul.  _His heart_.

 

* * *

_“I’ll burn you.”_ Moriarty said.” _I’ll burn the heart out of you.”_

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.”Sherlock answered, he was feeling John’s gaze on him.

_“We both know that’s not quite true.”_

 

* * *

In a darkened swimming pool, Sherlock Holmes discovered that he had a heart while he was looking into James Moriarty’s eyes, holding a gun.

In his whole life, Sherlock nearly never miscalculated.

James Moriarty told him that he had a heart.

John Watson taught him how to deal with a heart.


	5. At The Therapy

“You seem very determined about your marriage decision, John.”  
  
John looked at his therapist, Ella, who was always understanding, always calm, and breathed deeply.  
  
“Yes. Of course, yes. I love her. Mary. I love Mary.”

His left hand was twitching. _Why the fuck his left hand was twitching?_  
  
“John.”

John raised his head and made eye contact with her. He knew what she was doing from his own medical training. _“Always make eye contact with the patient.”_ In the army, this rule was very much flexible of course.  
  
“You’ve just had another big change in your life…”

John snorted.

“…it should take some time to get used to it.”

“I like how you make it sound like it happens to people all time. Dead friend, not really dead, comes back, I mean, what is so extraordinary about it? Give it a couple of months, it’ll be bloody fine.”

Ella looked speechless.

“There’s no way to get used to it, okay? Having the bastard who you grieve for two fucking years-“

John stopped and took another deep breathe. He lost the count of the deep breathes he took last couple days. 

“Look, John.” Ella tried again. “I know you and Sherlock-“

“WHY THE BLOODY FUCK WE ALWAYS TALK ABOUT SHERLOCK HOLMES?” he snapped. Harry, Mrs. Hudson and now Ella, why, why his marrige was connected with Sherlock so intensely? Friendship of two men shouldn’t be related to one of them’s marriage this much. Just shouldn’t.

“Because you and him obviously didn’t – don’t have an ordinary relationship, John, that’s why.” answered Ella, sounding like Sherlock, John almost waited for an " _obviously_ " at the end of her sentence.

“Did you just say _relationship_?”

“Are you more comfortable with the term _friendship_?”

They stared each other for a straight minute.

“I don’t even now what you’re talking about now.” said John with a sniff. Harry was calling it “The John Watson Rage Sniff”.  
  
“Harry Bloody Watson.” John repeated inside, maybe fourtieth time that day.  
  


* * *

John knew that Harry never claimed to be a good person. She was a rubbish sister and – if they were still alive, probably their parents would agree - daughter. Selfish. Reckless. He still could hear her yelling _“Get the fuck out of my room, Johnny!”_ and he still could remember the weird feeling raised in his chest when Harry kicked him out of the room they actually supposed to be sharing. He remembered the nights she came back home high, the nights she didn’t even come back, he remembered their mother’s nervous breakdowns, father getting angry and – _“No, John, don’t go there.”_ he warned himself. It was too much. Too many things to remember, too many things to hate Harry all over again.  
  
It was useless to hate her. Because whatever John felt, whatever he said – he told Harry that he hated her a couple times, which was mostly true – Harry had a special way to ignore him. Laughing on the phone. Getting drunk. Leaving playful comments on John’s blog. _“LOL!!!”_ _“Hahahahaha!! He can’t be! The way he used to look at Clara!” “That’s flipping mental.” “Are we meeting so soon?”_ It wasn’t hard to guess how drunk she was while writing all that stuff. John chose to play along. Let people think they were getting along. _“How’s Harry?” “Thank you, she’s fine I guess, we spoke a couple days ago.”_ Even Sherlock carefully avoided that topic, probably he knew what happened from the way John put sugar in his coffee or folded his shirts, something like that. Sherlock Holmes, The Great Consulting Detective, who had no barrier between his brain and mouth, was restricting himself for ordiary ex-army doctor John Watson. And John was grateful for it. How John liked the way Sherlock knew stuff before he even told him and protected John in his own way. They kept each other alive.

Then Sherlock faked his own death of course.

And two months after that Harry decided to play the good sister for the first time in their lives. John let her. Even she couldn’t make things worse than it already was.

They drank themselves to death and they talked, talked and talked. John didn’t even remember half of the things he told her. They didn’t even fight once, they were both too ruined for it. And after three months that drowned in alcohol, John told Harry she had to leave. He knew he needed to keep things together. Harry knew it too, she left without any objection, simply leaving a note that suggest him to see a psychiatrist – _“At least SSRIs could help, Johnny.”_ she said - and went back to her hell, leaving John to his own one.

John gave himself another two months to go in deep. He continued drinking, didn’t call anyone, ignored other people’s attempts to help. Then one morning, he woke up, had a proper shower, got shaved, looked at the mirror and gave himself a silence promise that he would get better.

After that, things really got better. He found a job, met Mary, smart and funny, took her to dates, he started to laugh again. But he could never shake that one feeling off.

The feeling he felt before something excited happened.

The feeling he was familiar from their cases.

He was waiting Sherlock to come back.

John didn’t know how that could be possible, he was just… waiting for it to happen.

The feeling was with him all the time. Maybe it would never leave.

The last time he went to Sherlock’s grave, he did ask him for one last miracle. “Stop being dead.” he said.

Sherlock told him once that there were no  ~~ _heroes_~~ miracles, John didn’t answer.

Because Sherlock Holmes was the man who taught John Watson to believe in _~~heroes~~_ miracles.  


* * *

“John?”

John startled for a moment, blinked twice while he was coming back to reality. “I think it’s enough for today.” he said with a strict voice.

Ella threw him another knowing and annoyingly understanding look, then sighed. “Fine, John.” she replied. John smirked, her attitude was good. Top five in the class, actually. Right amount of eye contact, perfectly timed gestures and completely fitting expressions, careful choice of words, all according to the book. The only thing she inevitably failing was empathy. There was no way another person could relate themselves with this, whatever the hell John was living. “Still, I want you to think about your life and decisions, John, and you have to admit you and Sherlock have some issues to resolve.” John smirked again, which made her suddenly stop.

“John?”

“Yes?”

Ella’s professional look dropped for a moment. “Have you ever tried to talk with him? About the two years you spent away from each other?”

John laughed bitterly. This thing, when people mention him and Sherlock like a recently seperated couple, it was…

“No.” he answered simply.

“Okay.” Ella stood up, which was telling John that he could leave now. John got on his feet too, walked to the door, then stopped.  
  
“Look. We are not… like that. We don’t do that. We just… don’t.”

It was the truth. John Watson wasn’t a man to make big dramatic confessions, Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a man who was capable of handling them.

They knew each other.

Better than anybody else on this bloody world could.

“I know.” Ella answered, her eyes were already fixed on his other patient’s file.

John silently left the room.

It was going to fine.

_It had to be_.


End file.
